


The Watcher

by Amymel86



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Can't help myself, F/M, Masturbation, jon is pervy, sansa is an exhibitionist, smut without plot, voyuerism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-08
Updated: 2016-12-08
Packaged: 2018-09-07 07:50:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,424
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8789644
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amymel86/pseuds/Amymel86
Summary: Soooooo..... smut ahoy! Sansa's a little minx and Jon can't help but be a wee bit pervy.I know - it's ridiculous! This is in response to one of Ava-Rosier's prompts sent through tumblr ;)





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AvaRosier](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AvaRosier/gifts).



She should feel ashamed - utterly mortified, or at least a little abashed at her continued behaviour, but the more it occurs, the more Sansa finds power and exhilaration in the little dance she's started with her half brother-turned-cousin.

She wonders if the act would carry as much excitement if she were to perform for another? Perhaps not. Sansa supposes that it has something to do with his famed honour - The blind belief that his bannermen (and indeed everyone who comes in contact with Jon) seem to have that he would always do what is right and respectful. And indeed he does - with everything - except this.

Imagining herself to be too much a temptation, something too alluring to pay any mind to the right and wrong of it - it's what fuels Sansa to continue.

She wonders if the first time she noticed him, was in fact, the first time for him? Had he happened upon her before only for Sansa to be too involved with her own pleasure to realise she was being watched by hungry eyes as they peered through the door left slightly ajar?

At first her handmaid's habit of not assuring her chamber door had closed properly had been a small source of frustration. One that she voiced in passing conversation to Jon over supper one evening, her cousin nodding along with her minor grievances as he tore a chunk of bread with his teeth, his slightly annoyed eyes trained on the meal in front of him. There were much bigger problems to be fretted over, Sansa knew this. But, sometimes Jon's sullen brooding and unwilling to engage in small talk prompted her to spew the first words that come to mind in an attempt to break his mood caused by the weight of the Northern crown upon his head. He had been particularly glum theses days too, leaving her to wonder what new threat had arisen to challenge the balance of their home.

Sansa knows Jon would take more of an interest in the subject of her minor grievances now that they may affect his nightly visits to her cracked doorway to watch her with that look - a look that he seems to be wearing more and more when she sees him during the day - when he thinks she doesn't notice him watching her at council meetings, during meals in the great hall or while she is crossing the courtyard. That look that speaks of a promise to devour her.

Maybe Cersei Lannister was right about the real power a woman holds being between her legs? Sansa thinks with a smirk. No matter - she is gone now, unable to use her womanly 'power' to save herself from being burnt to ashes by the Dragon Queen.

Sansa has heard that Queen Daenerys has requested Jon visit King's Landing. She also knows that the Queen's requests have gone unanswered for several moons now. On the odd occasion that she is feeling particularly optimistic, Sansa fancies that perhaps it is her that is the reason for his reluctance to leave Winterfell.

And so she'll keep up this little dance that started that rainy afternoon when all of Sansa's engagements for the day were finished, her handmaid had completed her tasks, and left Sansa alone, quite bored, in her bedchamber with the door to the solar left ajar.

Her attempts to entertain herself by reading only ended in a loud 'thunk' as the heavy book was unceremoniously tossed onto a table. She tried to finish her sewing and handicraft projects only to realise that she was making mistake after mistake and would need to unpick all of the past hours efforts.

Sansa huffed as she fell back onto her furs on the bed, flinging her arm over her eyes and groaning like a petulant child with nobody to play with.

With the weight of her arm pushing down upon her closed eyelids, she began losing herself in thought. The men would not be training in the yard today, due to the sudden downpour that thrashed against her window pane.

Pity. She thought - she liked to watch them, especially when they attempted to best Jon. She has not been witness to one succeeding yet. Jon was too skilled a swordsman, his inability to move gracefully in dance being made up for in battle. Sansa supposed if it were a choice between one or the other, Jon had the right balance.

She liked to watch him move, to see the force in his strokes as his opponents often crashed to the dusty floor. She liked the noises he made when pit against someone else of skill - grunts and short, throaty cries. But she liked it best once the training was over. When she would rise from her seat and come to congratulate him on his win, affording her a closer look at his panting mouth and his hair and brow slick from sweat.

Before she knew it, Sansa found herself with her skirts pulled up and her hand in her smallclothes, thinking herself entirely wicked for not only indulging in the sordid activity during the daylight hours (not that she hadn't done it before) but to do so while thinking of Jon. No matter. No one will know. She might well blush the next time she sees him but she's been told many a time that she looks pretty with the pinkish hue upon her cheeks.

Sansa feels herself teasing at her sensitive nub, stroking the flesh around it before flattening her fingers and rubbing slow circles upon it with building pressure. Her legs draw up the bed and bend at the knee. Sansa's unused hand plays with a silky section of her hair, twiddling and twirling it between her fingers as she bites her lower lip and thinks of all the ways she should like Jon to touch her and she him.

She'd like to see him without his clothing. She suspects that he wears his own skin well over planes of muscle that ripple and stretch with his movements. She wonders whether his chest is smattered with hair and what his skin would taste like on her tongue.

Sansa thinks of Jon's hands on her, cupping and kneading her breasts. Her own hand stops playing with her hair and begins mimicking the motions of her fantasy over her bodice.

Sansa should probably be ashamed of how quickly her mind turns to Jon's cock and how it would feel filling her - a lot better than her fingers as they currently pushed past her wet lower lips she supposed.

Sansa arched her back and sighed as her fingers crooked inside her and slid in and out. She heard a shuddered exhale and opened her eyes to see that she was being watched by a figure with dark hair and dark eyes beyond the small open crack of her door. Jon.

What she should have done in that instant and what she did do were two entirely different things. What she should have done was shriek and stop her ministrations, pulling her skirts over herself and pretend that nothing had happened.

What she did do however, was let out a moan caused by the sudden excitement of being watched. She felt a searing heat roll through her body at the thought that she had conjured him somehow by her wanton thoughts. He had not seemed to have noticed that Sansa was privy to him being there, watching her every move. She let her legs fall apart, back against the furs, affording Jon a better view. Sansa saw him draw a sharp breath and press closer to the gap on the door as her hand started to move more rapidly under her smallclothes.

Through heavy lidded eyes she continued to observe him watching her, liking the way she could see his chest heave panted breaths past his plump parted lips as his eyes followed the motions of her body, flushed and quivering before him.

Sansa felt her peak building as her fingers worked frantically. Her head pressed back into the pillow and her toes tingled and curled but it was the sight of Jon reaching to palm himself through his breeches that pushed her over the edge.

Sansa came with a cry and a shudder, her eyes screwed shut until the pleasurable spasms left her body. Jon was gone when she opened her heavy lids. She wondered if he'd locked himself away to see to his own wanton gratification. Sansa hoped so as she lay there damp and panting.


End file.
